Alone

Today's "All men are liars" blog post is about secrets. An anonymous comment posting seems to be a good way of revealing things about ourselves we don't even like to say to ourselves.
And often, the comment that comes up (and I'm only up to page 7 of the comments) is that I am terrified of being alone. Why is this the case? Why do so many of us find it hard to bridge the chasm between loneliness and solitude.

I'm alone because I want to be, as opposed to I am alone because I have no choice.

"If you believe the lies you tell yourself, they will eventually kill you"


Perth airport, elements of surprise, meetings missed and taxi followed. In a wide western night, (to quote Winterson) "Who are you for whom time has no meaning?"
...
Talk of a new chief for the IMF and dear Mr Keating's name came up as a remote possibility. Wouldn't that be wonderful?

Gifts

There have been a lot of them this past weekend.

Starting with Tuesday night when Mellie and Ross took me out to dinner for my birthday. And though things change and hairlines recede and hair colours change, we three stay the same. There was no time that we marked when we met. It was the same as ever and my heart truly swelled to be at the same table again.

Ross and I shared a bottle of champagne (sparkles, whatever) back at home so that when they left at around midnight I was more than a little pissed.

But it was at this time I thought that making a spiced cauliflower soup would be a good idea. And eventually it was because the soup was delicious! But I have spatter burns on my arm, and I was mighty tired on Wednsday. Though I did impress Steph by still turning up to the gym in the morning.

On Thursday I redeemed my Christmas voucher from M, at Belen in Karrinyup. Yes, four hours of absolute pampering. And because my head was full I did wonder if I could turn the thoughts off and really relax, but in the end it turned out that I could. I struggled for a while and then this glorious silence descended. I loved every minute of the four hours.

That night I dinnered with Steph and Matt, her fiancee in their wonderfully homey home. Homemade hummus, Matt-crafted red wine and a Moroccan feast and great, comfortable conversation. I stayed the night and Steph gave me her favourite Makine book to read. I am ashamed I have never heard of him but my god is his writing beautiful. Lyrical, just what I like. So a gift in another discovery.

And Friday was a special day. A totally banana day. And I had tons of messages and phone calls and flowers - I got such beautiful flowers!! And Food. And Company. It was one of my best birthdays.

And, on Friday I got an even bigger gift. VC arrived and we spent some of the day in North Perth, lunching and talking and walking. We visited a garage sale on the way home and carried records and ugg boots and a chopping board back to the flat. Treasure hunting!

In the evening VC took me to Jackson's for my birthday. And a more special and frankly extravagant experience you cannot imagine. Seven courses, seven wines, seven knives and forks - all prepared with such precision and passion as to take your breath away. As we talked about it afterwards, often the gift of experience is much more valuable than an object of some kind. And when the experience involves taste buds...

The walk home turned interesting when a legless Scouser fell into step with us on Vincent street, slurringly wondering where his house was. We pointed him in the right direction (our direction) and we walked on, chatting and laughing together. Passing Hyde Park the fellow made a bum grab at VC with no luck. After some time though, the guy went quiet and VC and I continued to chat. When we arrived at his place though he became more than vocal, pushing Craig and kicking at his legs and shouting and being drunk and aggressive. It was horrible. He was luckily so drunk that when he kicked out he just fell down, but it was not a nice experience.

On Sunday we went back to our 'usual' - the Pantry Door and on the way home bought playing cards and then went to Ross's 50th birthday party at the City Beach SLSC. It was a beautiful family affair and Ross's surprise to Mel was just divine.

The three days with VC reminded me of how a good conversation can uplift you endlessly. Of how much better than any gift a night of balcony gardening while listening to Nina Simone with someone I can be utterly myself with can be. My banana batteries are recharged, I have a smile on my face.

And... something way exciting might also be happening soon.

My apartment is full of flowers - this is another beautiful week.

Wet Wattle

Oh I slept and slept and slept last night. Through various tv shows and then through the night, waking only at 6.30 to the songs of birds and the sounds of rain. Real rain.
There were kookaburras on the fence in the yard, and the smell of wet native trees hung thick in the air. It was a beautiful morning. It deserved a drumroll!

Harry's fault

On Friday my Ablettless Cats defeated Collingwood in a game I shamefully thought they would lose. It was a good start to the weekend with Kym and I making broccoli and blue cheese soup, spag and meatballs and watching the game at home (Kym can't do pubs so the Paddo was out unfortunately).

On Saturday morning I bounded to the gym for a pump class and then spent a couple of hours ambling around Northbridge and North Perth, buying coffee and finishing Murakami in shady local spots. Later I crashed a little; it would seem my heart was not quite ready for Cohen. But then Evi arrived with a curling wand and false eyelashes and looking like a million bucks we headed to the birthday party.
Balloons on CY O'Connor beach, dinner at Char Char Bull, denied entry at East End Bar, admitted to the Clink (and oh the memories started) - a more hideous venue I have not encountered. Until, after much dithering, we wound up at the Newport. The good old Newport.
Security these days is ridiculously over the top, but once in the cavernous bowels of the building it felt so good to dance, embraced by the memories of past Newport nights. And I was hit on by a fresh 21 year old celebrating his birthday, wanting a kiss. "But it's my birthday" he said. Bless.

On Sunday after rpm, I set to cleaning the hubcap I'm going to paint for Ross's birthday and man those things are filthy. My hands look like those of a gay mechanic. All red nailpolish and wheel grease. Classy.

And, here is the part that is Harry's fault. Harry had recommended the film Barney's Version a few weeks ago, and it was still showing at the Luna so I went to see it at 4pm. Alone in a room full of couples, it was one of the most heartbreaking films I've ever seen. A wonderful film, but but worked like a hot poker in my heart. I called M on the way home and after almost 40 minutes on the phone I said I would go to his house for tea (tea???) rather than talking on the phone.
And although this sounds like a cliche, it's true: it felt like a homecoming. And not because of the house.
I told him I missed him. "So why did you leave?"

But I was not abandoning him, at least I didn't think so. The clanging emptiness of the house speaks otherwise, and what joy to make coffee this morning. So, we part again on muddied waters, and then a phone call from the airport "I'm glad you came but we have to talk"... a mess, but finally it was him saying the hard stuff. Post birthday weekend will be a time for words. And tea?

Another reminder

of why I love living here.

I had another 1.45 hour conversation with the ATO today. I owe them a lot of money and it's taking me a fair while to pay it back. Sometimes I struggle. But the level of customer service I received today just made me smile. Rosemary (whoever she may be) was patient, thorough and very kind. I hung up happy.

Dinner out with Kym today, a Turkish place in Subi and then swimming tomorrow - dare I chance the outside pool? And cocktails on Friday before the game and so life gets busy. And time passes and each dayI walk straighter (upright, not weaving) and happier.

Mood was touch and go this weekend. For some reason (and really it could have been any hormonal random reason) I crashed badly on Thursday. I got home from the gym (after hearing that bloody 'turn the car around' song that doesn't help the tears) and slumped in front of the telly and cried. And cried. And drank Drambuie and ate an entire loaf of white bread with butter and wrote a rambling love letter that started and ended with

I miss you.

And then I went to bed and had awful dreams, but somehow managed to bumble into a Friday that was at least laced with hope. Until M called at lunchtime. It was all I could do to keep down Kym's delicious mushroom soup and the tears at bay and I resigned myself to another sad weekend until Bud called with her wonderful and generous surprise.

On Saturday an odd calm descended. I was up at 5, so decided to bake some bagels. I also walked to North Perth to explore that end of my neighbourhood and buy some milk. It's a great area, and I found a gorgeous array of cafes and quaint antique shops, and a wonderful florist on Angove Street who sets up at the old defunct servo, and sells - WAY OVERPRICED - sweet williams. I had to buy a bunch. They are the colour explosion in my little apartment and they bring me many smiles.

Then S and I met at the gym for my first Step 'robics class since high school. If I had not been present at the class, I wouldn't have believed that instructor. Camp as camp can be, and frankly a big showoff with regard to his enviable flexibility. I laughed so much my abs also got a workout and the whole class was well entertained with Banana monkeying around, trying and failing to get the steps right. S came for coffee and a fresh bagel afterwards, and then I settled in to make the flourless chocolate cake and coq au vin for dinner, while Geelong nicely demolished North Melbourne on the telly.

The dinner on Saturday night was predictable, and conversation inevitably strayed to topics I didn't relish covering, but then it was over and on Sunday I dozed on and off, while reading, until noon. Then energy kicked in and I laundered, and took myself to lunch at the pantry door where they were playing Ani DiFranco, and I read the paper and looked at the gently moving sunny Sunday just outside the window and I smiled.

Thai pumpkin soup was on the menu for Monday so I put that on to cook while I nipped to the gym for a sneaky shower as the hot water in the apartment has decided to take a holiday.

And so to another week.

Small gifts each day of contact, of returned smiles, of friends being unbelievably generous.

If only Kym wasn't quite so generous with her marvellous marvellous shortbread...

Time

Is helping.

The passing of it is like a body of water, gently sloughing off the hard edgy bits of my memory. I still pull myself up, often catching myself going over and over a particular scene, or remembered tid-bit that hurts like hell, but then I'll stop and shake my head free of the thought and concentrate really hard on something else. (The BBC's My Music radio show for example) Often I'll shake my head and say "Stop it now" out loud, even when I'm on the street, or here at work. I'm a little bit crazy but I'm definitely getting better.

I am learning not to count the days since the last kiss and to stop asking myself: "I wonder if that was the last one ever?"
I am learning not to re-read old text messages or look at old photos or - and I know this is loco - listen to an old voicemail just to hear his voice say "Macska" again.

When was the last time I cried? You know it may have been as long as a week ago.

On the weekend I had a mad bout of cleaning, giving the balcony walls a good dose of domestos so they gleam white in the autumn sun. Washing the windows so thoroughly turned out to be more a curse than a blessing as yesterday morning I walked straight into the closed glass door. And no, unlike at Nick's party way back when, this time I wasn't zonked on Strongbow (and Mr Apted's moustache). Enough said.

I am amazed, again and again at the wonderful people I work with. Offering words and books and music and random invites for weekend visits. I bless them all.

And I am developing a definite social life. Dinners and cocktails and exhibition openings and warm soup lunches. I feel like I am metaphorically straightening my collar (and it must be metaphorically because Jules isn't here to do it for me) and breathing out: I will be okay.